Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

What it comes down to	By : melinda1293 Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 115219 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Chapter 18. Confrontations

“That was a lot of fun.”
Ginny laid her hand over Harry’s and squeezed his fingers lightly, smiling at him as Ron carried the ornately carved wooden box with the chess pieces over to the buffet table with the other gifts he’d received. She’d played a good game, and it was a beautiful set the twins had gotten him. Harry had never seen one like it before.
Still not trusting his voice to speak, though the potion’s effects were finally starting to wear off, Harry nodded in agreement. He didn’t feel anywhere near as foggy and dimwitted as he had when they’d arrived, and the numbness in his limbs had subsided, too. It wasn’t completely out of his system, however, he knew, because he wasn’t nearly as pissed off as he should be at both Ron and Hermione for making him take it. In his mind he knew he was angry, but his body still wouldn’t react to it.
It was bizarre to be having furious, murderous thoughts, yet be totally calm at the same time. It disoriented him to have his heart rate chemically altered so that it beat slow and steady while he raged. Flooded with endorphins, he felt almost no pain, no stress, when in reality, he was screaming. It was like being under the Imperius Curse, but being completely aware of his actions the whole time. The potion had trapped him in his own traitorous body while it pretended one thing, and he knew another. It was complete and utter hell.
He hadn’t been able to feel his hands or his face for a long time after Hermione had dosed him. It was as if his nerve endings had shrunk and couldn’t reach to the ends of his extremities. That horrible numbness had threatened to swallow him whole. It had left him feeling like it was devouring him while he sat there terrified. Now that it was finally wearing off, his fingers and toes tingled like they’d fallen asleep. He felt like electric currents were running to his fingertips and up his arm when Ginny squeezed his hand.
“Thanks, Fred, George, it’s really...” Ron started, but then broke off.
Harry looked up when he’d stopped speaking, watching the light growing in the room. The potion had slowed his comprehension, impaired his reasoning so that he thought for a minute that they were bringing another birthday cake loaded with candles into the room. But what he saw was even more bewildering.
A ball of pure white light had fallen right through the ceiling into the middle of the room. The light hovered a few inches above the ground for a moment. Then it grew, expanding out in all directions, and even in his drugged state, Harry knew what it would become. He’d seen her before, erupting just as unexpectedly out of the end of Snape’s wand in the dungeon. It was the doe. The doe that was his mother’s patronus, cast by the bastard who’d sent Voldemort to kill her. The sight of the beautiful creature felt like a reminder that Snape had stolen her from him, as if he were taunting Harry with the knowledge.
Everyone gasped at its sudden appearance, Ginny squeezing his hand again in surprise as it turned its head to stare at him. Then it spoke, and that hated voice filled the room and flooded his mind.
“We need to meet. Friday at noon, at the place where she led you.”
Staring at Harry a moment longer, her huge beautiful eyes on him, the doe blinked once, and then vanished. Harry sat stunned, feeling like time had stopped while he processed the shock of her appearance and her message to him. Then, not even the potion could stop the roaring in his ears and the shaking of his limbs as the world started up again in slow motion. It couldn’t hold the buildup of fury and fear and hatred that was surging in him. It couldn’t stop the blackness that had been building in his veins all evening, which he couldn’t expel because of the potion’s debilitating effect. It couldn’t hold him any longer because it was wearing off now, and he was revving up. It sounded like a massive engine lying dormant all this time had come to life inside him, roaring in his ears, making his whole body vibrate with its power.
Ron watched him from across the room in mounting horror, and then he started to move, still in that weird slow way. As if the room was losing gravity, or it had filled suddenly with water and they were all in some giant aquarium, their bodies started to float off the ground. Ron’s mouth opened in a yell, but Harry couldn’t hear over the roaring in his ears. There was terror in his eyes as he came for Harry. Then Hermione moved, too. Harry could see her rising slowly out of her chair as if weightless, gripping her wand. Her arm floated up to aim at him while Ron began pulling people out of their chairs and flinging them towards the door. Yelling at Hermione, words that Harry couldn’t understand, warnings that wouldn’t filter into his confused mind, Ron advanced on Harry where he sat.
Ginny gripped his arm, frightened at the sudden chaos that had erupted around them all, and he remembered where he was, suddenly, and who was there with him. Blinking once, still watching the bizarre slow dance, the water ballet that was happening around him, Harry felt fear now flooding through him. He was about to be stunned by Hermione or flying tackled by Ron, though he hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch. They were going to curse him, hold him in a body bind and force more potions on him. Harry knew it. They were planning to physically subdue him in front of Ginny and her family, as if he was some wild animal that had been set loose on them. But he hadn’t done anything! He hadn’t hurt anybody!
“NO!” he shouted in outrage.
Jumping to his feet, Harry threw his hands up to protect himself, knocking everyone around him backwards with a blast that had burst from him with a sound like a gong. It sent them all staggering as if he’d hit them with a powerful impediment jinx. Empty chairs toppled and half-finished bottles of butterbeer were knocked over from the wave of energy that had exploded from him.
“Stop it!” he bellowed as loud as his damaged voice would allow.
Then Dobby was in front of him. Facing off against Harry’s attackers in a fighting stance, his feet were apart and his knees were bent. He held his arms up like Harry’s, ready to help defend him against Ron, against Hermione.
“You must not harm Harry Potter!” he squeaked, his bat-like ears pressed flat to his head. Like an angry cat, he glared around at them all.
It might have looked funny, the little elf coming to his defense, but Harry knew how powerfully magical Dobby actually was, and that he was deadly serious, too. He’d defied his own master, attacking to protect Harry once before, and he would again without a doubt.
Harry glared at Ron and Hermione on the floor in front of him while the whole room trembled like the earth was bucking beneath it. Windowpanes rattled and abandoned plates and silverware danced on the tabletops as his fury at their betrayal manifested itself in the air around him when he couldn’t generate it in his own body.
“Harry…please,” Hermione pleaded, back up on her knees from where she’d fallen, her arms up now, too, mirroring his, rising in surrender. “Just calm down.”
“Why are you doing this?” he demanded, though the words were low and raspy. “I haven’t done anything. I didn’t hurt anyone.” His voice cracked, threatening to break completely again.
As he looked around at the shocked and frightened faces staring at him, the trembling of the room finally died. He felt the shame of what they were witnessing starting to bloom in him, the realization that he was the one causing it.
“You did this…you made this happen!” he accused, turning back to Ron and Hermione, feeling mortified now as he pointed a shaking finger at the pair, at the two people who were supposed to be his friends.
Harry wanted to scream at them for the humiliation they’d caused him tonight in front of Ginny, in front of the twins, in front of the people he thought of as his surrogate parents. He wanted to punch them both in the mouth and rage at them, but he was still being restrained by that fucking potion Hermione had given him.
“Harry, I’m sorry,” Hermione started again.
“I did everything you wanted. I did everything you wanted me to do,” he interrupted, his voice quavering now, which only made him more angry, more embarrassed. “I was a good little boy for you tonight, just like you wanted.”
Tears welled in Hermione’s eyes, rolling down her cheeks as she stared up at him, looking distraught.
“I’m sorry, Harry. I overreacted,” Ron apologized then. “They’re my family, mate…please understand, I was afraid. I’m just trying to protect them.”
“I know who they are,” Harry shot back. “And I love them, too. I’d never hurt them.”
He was heartbroken, utterly devastated that Ron would think that he would cause them any harm.
“I’m sorry you don’t trust me with them. That you felt like they couldn’t be safe around me anymore unless I was stoned out of my mind…I’m sorry that you’re afraid of me.”
His last words were spoken softly, his voice growing cold as he heard Mrs. Weasley gasp from somewhere behind him.
“No, Harry, it’s not like that, but you’re not in control of yourself. Not all the time. Not right now,” Ron tried to explain, waving his arms around to take in the state of the room and its terrified occupants. “Hermione and I were only trying to keep you calm. We knew tonight would be hard on you. But when that doe…” Ron broke off, frightened of mentioning it in his volatile state. “We’re only ever trying to help. I swear it.”
“I’m not crazy,” Harry spat. “I’m not out of my mind. I know you don’t believe that. You think I’m some kind of monster.”
They both looked horrified at his words, shaking their heads in denial.
“I don’t think that, Harry,” Ron said slowly into the utter silence that had fallen in the room, still shaking his head. “I’m sorry, all right? I know we messed up.”
“I’ve had enough,” Harry announced in disgust.
He needed to get out of here before the effects of the potion truly wore off, and he completely lost control and embarrassed himself even further.
“I think I’ll give managing those stairs a go now. That was my other option, right?” he asked with bitter sarcasm. “Now that your plan hasn’t worked out so well.”
He glared at Hermione as if daring her to stop him.
“Thanks, Dobby,” he said quietly to the elf as he turned, walking slowly, unsteadily, towards the door while Ron scrambled to get to his feet.
“I can manage on my own,” he growled, freezing Ron on the spot. “You stay and finish your party. Enjoy your guests without having to worry about me anymore.”
“Harry, don’t do this,” Ron begged as Harry brushed past Fred and Mr. Weasley, who put a hand to his shoulder in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded, but Harry didn’t care anymore.
“Wait. Harry?” Ginny called, coming up behind him.
Harry turned wearily to face her. She stood in front of him in the hallway, looking into his face, her family and Hermione just beyond her in the doorway.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he whispered to her, reaching out to curl a strand of her hair around his fingers while everyone watched him. And she did, he couldn’t stop staring at her all night. Drinking her in, his eyes, his mind, his body starving for the sight of her.
“It was so good to see you,” he said more loudly in his hoarse voice, looking around to all of them before returning his eyes to her because he meant it for her most of all.
His heart aching for her, Harry leaned down and kissed her cheek, feeling his eyes stinging as he inhaled her familiar floral scent, like ambrosia to his senses.
“Don’t come back,” he told her in a flat voice that sounded dead to his own ears.
Then he turned to make his way slowly up the stairs. Leaving her open mouthed behind him, stunned by his rejection. Walking away, he left her behind once again, though he wanted so badly to cling to her.
God, it hurt.
Harry couldn’t get away from her fast enough. He wanted to flee, but he was struggling on the damn stairs. He hadn’t even managed four steps before Ron was beside him. Sliding a hand around his waist, Ron pulled Harry’s arm around his neck. Harry didn’t even try and fight him. He just wanted to get away. They mounted the steps in total silence, and he could feel every single eye on him.
“Go back downstairs, Ron,” Harry told him when they’d crossed the threshold of Sirius’ room. “I can manage from here on my own.”
Ron just stood there, his face full of regret. “I don’t want—”
“You don’t want what? To leave me alone?” Harry asked bitterly, interrupting Ron. “Well, I don’t need a minder. I’m not planning to off myself or anything, you prick. Just leave me the hell alone!”
Ron flinched, but still, he didn’t move.
“Get the fuck out of here!” Harry spat, pointing at the door when Ron opened his mouth again to protest. “And if you send Hermione up here…I swear to God, she’d better be armed!”
Ron continued to stare at him, looking like a whipped dog with his sorrowful eyes, before finally nodding his head and turning for the door.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized quietly, pausing at the door a moment before finally leaving Harry standing alone in the middle of the room.
Harry didn’t know what to do now. He thought about going into the bathroom and locking the door so he could scream his voice away again in private, but he was afraid of that room. No matter what he’d just told Ron, if he found himself in there alone and this upset, he didn’t really know what he’d do. Plus, they’d probably tear the whole house down around him trying to get to him if he did. He’d just taken a bath yesterday morning on his own and had practically caused a panic.
Dropping heavily into the chair, he felt completely drained. His body and mind were in utter chaos, warring with each other, fighting against what remained of the potion. He wished he could cry his eyes out now that he was alone, but he wasn’t able. Not yet. The potion was still preventing the tears from forming, for which he was actually grateful. It was the only thing he hadn’t done tonight in front of Ron’s whole family. Mercifully, that tiny piece of his dignity was still intact. He supposed he ought to write a thank-you letter to Hermione for that. Without the potion, he might have simply burst into tears when they walked in the room.
Christ! Maybe he was insane, he thought, as his insides burned with the humiliation and shame at the spectacle he’d made of himself tonight. He needed his journal, he needed the ball, but he’d left them both downstairs. Harry felt naked without them now.
It was funny. He had yet to hold a wand since their capture, but instead of longing for it, for the protection that stick of wood could provide, he was yearning for a stupid rubber ball as if it could save him from the world or from himself.
He was alone barely ten minutes before Hermione and Ron came in together, heads down, looking contrite. Having cleaned up the mess, said their goodbyes to his family and ushered them out, he presumed, making his apologies to them, no doubt. Harry didn’t move from the chair or even look at them. Pretending he hadn’t heard them, pretending he’d been turned to stone, he sat completely immobile in the chair.
“Harry…” Ron started to apologize again or explain.
Harry jumped up suddenly, as if his name on Ron’s lips was a trigger, as if the sound of Ron’s voice was the bell signaling the start of the fight. Moving more quickly than any of them thought him able, he closed the distance between them, shoving a stunned Ron hard into the doorframe behind him.
“Fuck you!” he shouted, as all the pent-up anger was finally able to break through to his tingling limbs.
He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear anything they had to say!
The air was forced out of Ron’s lungs at the impact. Hermione gave a little shriek of surprise, shrinking back at the sudden violence that had erupted out of him, but he wasn’t finished. Swinging his good arm, he felt his knuckles connect solidly with Ron’s jaw, throwing his head back to smack against the wall with a satisfying thud. Harry staggered slightly from the momentum of his punch, sending him careening off balance.
His hand hurt, but he knew he hadn’t really hit Ron all that hard. He simply wasn’t able. He didn’t have the strength, and that made him even more angry.
“I’m sorry,” Ron tried again.
Harry screamed then. He was so full of fury at him, at them both that he had no more words to express it.
Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth in horror. Ron raised his arms in surrender, and Harry swung again, catching him in his now-unprotected side.
“Uuuhhnn,” Ron grunted as the air was expelled from his lungs again, and he doubled up.
Harry stumbled into him, breathing hard, and Ron wrapped his arms around him then. Capturing him and trying to pin his arms down at his sides, Ron tried to physically subdue him while he screamed and fought to free himself. He was yelling things, but he didn’t even know what they were. Struggling in Ron’s much stronger grip, he landed more punches to Ron’s stomach and ribs as he raged against him.
“I’m sorry,” Ron panted. “Harry, I’m sorry…please stop.”
“Fight back!” Harry growled, still struggling against him.
Gripping Ron’s waist, he drove him back into the wall again with his shoulder.
“No,” Ron grunted, breathing hard. “Harry….I can’t….ouch, damn it, stop it!” he yelled, groaning as Harry caught him in the diaphragm, driving upwards into his ribcage, though he couldn’t really get any momentum behind his swings now.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry…just stop now…just stop it.”
Harry’s energy was failing him. He was weakening in Ron’s grip. His head rested on Ron’s shoulder now while Ron continued to embrace him.
“Why did you do that…why did you do that to me?” he cried.
The tears were finally coming as he landed another blow to Ron’s abdomen, making Ron grunt in pain. But Ron just continued to say he was sorry over and over again, crooning to Harry until the fight had gone completely out of him, until he hung limp in Ron’s arms, completely exhausted.
“I didn’t do anything,” he mumbled into Ron’s chest, his tears dampening Ron’s shirt. “I didn’t deserve that.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.”
“Shut up!” he said angrily.
“I’m sorry,” Ron apologized again, relaxing his grip on Harry to stroke his hair. “I’m sorry, mate, truly.”
“I hate you. I hate both of you for this,” Harry told them, turning his head on Ron’s shoulder to face Hermione, still gripping Ron’s waist to help hold himself up.
Harry glared at her, watching the tears rolling down her cheeks, feeling like she had no right to be upset with him.
“I know. We were stupid. It won’t happen again,” Ron assured him, still stroking him, soothing him. “I promise.”
“If I hit her, would you hit me back?” Harry asked.
Hermione let out a sob then.
“Yeah, I would,” Ron answered warningly, tightening his grip on Harry again.
Harry swung his left arm out at her weakly, though she wasn’t anywhere near enough for him to actually hit her. She burst into tears.
“Stop it!” Ron barked, shaking him a bit, causing them both to stumble and Ron to curse under his breath.
But Harry wasn’t sorry. He wanted to make her cry. He wanted Ron to hit him back, to pummel him until his nose bled, until his eyes swelled shut, and it hurt to breathe. He wanted to feel it, to be dragged under by it. But Ron didn’t, he just held him while Harry’s energy and resistance drained out of him.
“I wish I could have hit you harder,” he told Ron then, pressed against his chest, letting Ron take most of his weight now. “More times,” he mumbled. “I’m still mad.”
“I know. It hurt enough, though,” Ron replied. “You made your point.”
“Harry, please,” Hermione cried. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I never meant…”
“I’m never taking it again,” he interrupted her apology, speaking quietly, too drained to muster the energy to continue the fight with her. “I’m never letting you give me that again.”
“No,” she agreed, shaking her head, tears still pouring down her face. “Never again, Harry. I promise.”

Harry didn’t remember going to bed that night, how he’d gotten there, or if he’d simply fallen asleep standing up in Ron’s arms, but he woke up in the morning pressed against Hermione’s back. He was spooned against her, his body curled around hers with his arm draped over her stomach. Stretching, he pressed his hips into her, rubbing his morning erection against her, sighing at the feeling of her warm body against his, at the friction he was creating between them. He moaned as he rocked into her again, more firmly, burrowing into the cleft of her arse. God, it felt good, he thought sleepily, still too drowsy to comprehend what he was doing and who he was doing it with.
When his mind finally caught up, he jerked himself backwards in alarm, almost falling off the bed in his haste to get away from her. His heart hammering, Harry stared down at her and then over at Ron, who was facing him, though still asleep, apparently. His mouth was open, his chin a bit swollen and bruised.
Jesus Christ! he thought. Breathing hard, he put a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. Then he lay back down on his back as far away from Hermione as he could and still be on the bed, and tried willing his body to relax. She rolled over then, to face him.
Shit! He thought she was still asleep, too. Harry could feel his face going red. What the hell was he supposed to say, he wondered, trying not to look at her, feeling utterly mortified.
“Morning,” she whispered.
“Uh… morning,” he mumbled back, hoping she was just going to pretend that it hadn’t happened, though his body was still showing entirely too much interest in her.
Holy hell! This was completely mad. He was both embarrassed and yet still totally aroused at the same time.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said quietly then. “About everything, Harry.”
That took care of that problem, he thought as he looked at her now. Her apology felt like she’d just dumped a bucket of cold water over him. The memories from the previous day washed over him, dousing his desire in an instant as the remembered humiliation, fear, and anger came back to him.
“Yeah, uh, I think I need the loo.”
Turning away from her quickly, he sat up.
What the fuck? He really didn’t remember getting to bed last night at all. It was a total blank. He’d expected to find himself in the clothes he’d been wearing yesterday if he’d passed out last night, but he was stripped to his boxers again. He was really hoping he’d undressed himself, but he had a feeling he hadn’t. The idea of them getting him in the bed and stripping him down made him feel weird and a little embarrassed again.
Maybe Hermione clocked him on the back of the head last night while Ron held him pinned to his chest, Harry thought hopefully. He remembered taking a swing at her, although in his defense, he’d never intended to truly hit her. But maybe Ron knocked him out for it anyway, or she did, in retaliation. Maybe he’d gone completely mental, or more mental than he already was, or something, and they had to stun him. Or maybe, he simply passed out on Ron’s shoulder when he couldn’t fight anymore.
Yup, that’d be it. That was more reasonable, he decided. He didn’t have a splitting headache, and he didn’t think he had another lump on his head either. Checking, he ran a hand over the back of his head to make sure and then down his face. Nope, no lumps, no split lip or sore cheek. He could see out of both his eyes, and his teeth all seemed to be in place, too. He must have passed out.
Real manly, he thought derisively. Then he slid off the bed, pausing a moment to make sure he was steady on his feet before walking to the bathroom.
Once he’d emptied his bladder, Harry still wasn’t ready to go back out into the bedroom and face either of them. He didn’t know if he was still too mad at them, or if he was still too embarrassed. He hadn’t brought Hermione’s bag in with him though, so he had no change of clothes or anything, but he decided to take a shower anyway. He really wasn’t a huge fan of baths, and he felt strong enough today to be able to stand long enough to wash himself under the spray. Besides, his legs felt much better after they’d gotten used to regular exercise again and the repeated applications of Madame Pomfrey’s cream.
Checking the temperature of the water, he got it as hot as he could stand and stepped under the spray. It felt wonderful. The water drummed against his back, his shoulders, and his chest, waking him all the way up and massaging his body. He hung his head and let it pound on the back of his neck. Letting the water drip off the end of his nose and chin, Harry thought about yesterday, about Snape, about what he was going to do about that, and then about Hermione again.
Why hadn’t she moved away from him when he was rutting against her? Had she only just woken up when he’d rolled away from her? Had she still been asleep when he was trying to hump her into the mattress? God, he hoped so.
Then a new thought occurred to him. Were she and Ron sleeping together? Well, they were all sleeping together, which was strange in its own right, but were the two of them having sex, he wondered. They were wearing very little clothing yesterday morning and seemed completely comfortable in front of each other in them. Then he remembered them coming out of the bathroom together the other morning, and he realized that they were then. They must be.
The idea was just bizarre. He didn’t know how he felt about it, frankly. They deserved to be happy, and they were meant to be together, but still. It made him feel hollow inside to know that they were finally together, finally happy, especially after the disaster of seeing Ginny yesterday.
Then he had to get away from those images, and shut down those feelings because it hurt too much to see her or think about her. He couldn’t be with her. It wasn’t possible anymore for them. Not for him.
He ran the soapy rag over his shoulder, over the bite marks on his back, and then down his arm, his good arm, cataloging all the reasons why. As his hand ran over each horrible reminder, he thought of all the things he’d done and all the things they’d done to him. He’d been violated, used, carved up, and beaten. He’d raped and had been raped. They’d mind fucked him and corrupted him until he would never be the same. He’d killed three of them, three Death Eaters, but he wanted to kill more. He intended to, if he got the chance. Hell, more than that. He meant to hunt them down, planning to take his revenge against them as painfully as possible.
He ran the rag across his chest then, over the circular wound at his collar bone where Lucius had twisted the knife and dug in the flesh. A knot of scar tissue had risen into a bump there under the skin. The flesh around it was numb, like that on his left arm, along the jagged scar. The feel of it, the feel of the skin beneath his fingers, cold and dead, totally numb to his touch, brought back the mad thoughts. The deranged theories he’d been fighting against since the first time he’d woken up, worked their way back into his mind. Harry kept telling himself it was nerve damage, it was scar tissue, but he couldn’t make himself believe it.
Sure that Lucius had planted something inside him, Harry was convinced that he’d seeded him with the spawn of something horrible, something that was growing in him, feeding on him. The numbness in his skin was from where it had taken root inside him, from where it had burrowed into his flesh. The idea terrified and repulsed him so much that he could hardly let himself think about what it could be because he was afraid he knew. He’d convinced himself it was a Dementor his body was playing host to, that he was slowly being consumed by it. He was slowly turning into one.
He felt the cold clamminess inside him emanating from those spots where Lucius’ knife had torn him open and from those places where he’d torn himself open. His fever, the fever that Madame Pomfrey couldn’t explain, was his body trying to fight it off, trying to rid itself of the parasite that was invading his cells and paralyzing the skin. He knew it.
Unable to keep the irrational thoughts out, he was certain that this was how they’d formed, sure that this was how the foul creatures originated and propagated. They were once men, he reasoned, men who’d lost their ability to feel happiness. They were men that had been filled with the blackness, filled with the poison until they weren’t human anymore, until they were consumed with it. Once there was no longer any feeling left in them, once the blood in their veins ran black with it, then the only happiness they could find was to suck it out of someone else.
Harry was shaking now, remembering the terror he’d felt yesterday when the potion had numbed him. His face, his hands, and his feet slowly grew cold while he sat utterly defenseless against it. It made him feel like it was consuming him faster, turning him before their eyes, just like the pain potion had made him feel before it. But it was so much worse because it didn’t knock him out. He just had to sit there, terrified and helpless, waiting for it to happen. The potion made him outwardly calm, unable to scream or fight it off as it crawled up his arms and legs. Sliding down his face onto his neck, it threatened to choke him with his own panic. And he could do nothing to prevent it, only wait to drown in it.
Oh, God! He had to get out of here before the fear overwhelmed him again and made him claw at his own flesh. He needed to escape before he ripped open the wounds to let the blackness bleed out of him, before he infected Ron and Hermione, before he sucked their happiness away from them to fill the hollowness in himself.
Turning the water off with shaking hands, Harry staggered out of the tub, nearly blind with fear now. Feeling like he was hyperventilating, he grabbed the towel and threw it on him at the same time as he reached for the door. It was locked, and he almost lost it completely before his fumbling fingers could get it open. Flinging the door open finally, Harry stumbled into the bedroom, taking deep breaths. He was still soaked to the skin. Water dripped from him everywhere because he hadn’t taken the time to dry himself off in his frenzy to escape the bathroom. It dripped from his hair and ran down his back and chest, soaking into the towel at his waist. It slid down his legs and dampened the carpet around his feet. The coolness of the air, the sudden change from the moist heat of the bathroom sent goose bumps erupting over his skin as he stood there, breathing hard while trying to fight the panic still flooding through him.
“Harry?”
Hermione came up to kneel on the bed, her eyes going wide with concern at his abrupt entrance.
“Harry, you’re white as a sheet. Are you okay?” she asked as Ron sat up then, too.
Harry shook his head. His lips were trembling. He felt anything but okay, but he was too terrified to speak.
“What the hell happened?” Ron asked, bewildered, but Harry still couldn’t answer.
Sliding off the bed then, Ron walked towards him, and Harry finally found his voice. Taking a step backwards, he moved away from Ron and out of his reach.
“I just…I just got scared is all. It was stupid, but I’m okay now,” he lied, still shaking all over, feeling dizzy.
If they knew what he was really thinking they’d have him locked up in St. Mungo’s.
Harry had a sudden image of himself shut up in the closed ward, spending the rest of his days with Professor Lockhart. Hanging out with Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom, they’d practice joined-up writing and collect gum wrappers. Harry could have Bode’s old bed, and he and Lockhart could trade signed photos of themselves or force them on hapless visitors like poor Neville. Maybe Neville would take pity on him and sit and talk with Harry when he came to see his parents at Christmas. The thought made him feel hysterical and desperately sad. He took another step away from Ron, afraid for him to touch him right now.
“Hermione, where’s your bag?” he asked. “I need some clothes.”
He was trying to cover up his panic attack, trying to get himself under control before it got worse, and they decided to take action against him.
“It’s here on the table,” she told him, pointing to his side of the bed. “Harry, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, hurrying over to the table and snatching up the bag.
Securing the towel around his waist so he could rummage in the bag for his clothes, Harry felt extremely self-conscious. He wished they’d stop watching him.
Dragging out the first shirt he put his hands on, Harry threw it over his head, not caring if it belonged to him or Ron. He had a hard time getting it on with his shaking hands. It kept sticking to his wet skin, and it was completely damp by the time it was settled against his chest. He had even more trouble with the boxers. He fought to slide them up his legs and under the towel while Ron and Hermione continued to stare at him, affording him no privacy.
“Do you mind?” he finally asked in irritation at their obvious fascination with his awkward reverse strip tease.
Jerking the towel off, he threw it on the bed before searching again in the bag for some jeans.
“Sorry,” Ron said, sheepishly. “But you’re acting really strange, and you seem in rather a hurry. Going somewhere?”
“Uh, no…well, what day is it, actually?”
“It’s Thursday. It’s my birthday tomorrow,” Ron replied.
“Well, happy birthday to you then. Looks like we’ll be going on a little day trip.”
Finally fishing out a pair of trousers from the depths of the bag, he sighed in relief before dropping the bag back onto the bed.
“What?” Ron asked incredulously.
“You can’t possibly be thinking to meet him, Harry,” Hermione said in disbelief.
“I’ve got to,” he argued, standing unsteadily on one leg as he threaded the other into the leg hole of his jeans.
“It could be a trap,” she warned. “Harry, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Not like yours yesterday, do you mean?” he asked in irritation.
Hermione looked like he’d slapped her.
“When have any of us had a good idea?”
He yanked the jeans up over his hips finally, staggering slightly as he did up the fly.
“What ideas have we had since this whole thing started that turned out to be a good one, huh?” he demanded. “Name one.”
“But we don’t know if Snape is really on our side,” she pointed out somewhat tentatively, afraid of setting him off again like last night, perhaps. Maybe she thought he’d run at her this time instead of Ron if she disagreed with him.
“Snape’s on his own side. I can promise you that, but I’m meeting him tomorrow anyway, even if it’s to end him. You can come or stay.”
He toweled off his hair so that it stuck up wildly in every direction.
“It’s your choice.”
The barb about her choice to attend wasn’t lost on either of them. The reminder of what they’d forced on him yesterday was still clear in their minds. Turns out, he was still really pissed off.
“Harry, I’m all for helping you hunt down every fucking Death Eater that was in that dungeon. Really,” Ron began, trying to pacify him. “But I don’t think you’re healthy enough to take on Snape just yet, mate.”
“He’s got answers I need, Ron,” Harry replied, finally feeling calm again now that he had a plan, a purpose. “I’m not missing my chance to get them from him.”
“Harry—”
“Are you going to try and stop me?” he asked, turning on Ron.
“No…but ...”
“I need my wand back,” he announced.
Wheeling around, he headed for the stairs, leaving them both to stare after him.
They spent most of the morning trying to talk him out of going, and when they couldn’t, they spent the afternoon helping him work on a plan to get them safely in and out of there.
As he rolled the blackthorn wand in his hand, Harry felt more like himself than at any time since their capture. He felt driven, focused on this next task. The wand still felt unfriendly to him, but it was better than nothing. It made him feel more in control of himself and where he was headed than he’d felt in so long, as if his feet were back on the path, facing the right direction again. And Ron and Hermione were beside him, too, following his lead once again.
Harry had no idea what Snape wanted with him. He knew it was dangerous, but he had no choice. He needed answers, and he was going to get some.

~ . ~

This one is kinda short, but I didn’t want to leave you all hanging long thinking that Harry was burning down Grimmauld Place and all its occupants. :) Next chapter with be the meeting with Snape and whatever fallout occurs with that. Hope it wasn’t a disappointment that it wasn’t in this one, but I think it will take a while to get through and I want to get Snape right.
G.
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What it comes down to

Chapter 18. Confrontations